Runaways, Guitars and Roses
by TheGirlWhoWillFall
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was your average teenage runaway, she lived life on the road and made money here and there doing odd jobs and playing her guitar. This is the story of how she met John Watson… Warning: Femlock, teenlock. Complete... maybe.


Title: Runaways, Guitars and Roses.

Summary: Sherlock Holmes was your average teenage runaway, she lived life on the road and made money here and there doing odd jobs and playing her guitar. This is the story of how she met John Watson… Warning: Femlock, teenlock.

A/n: Hi another one-shot which I may continue depending on reviews and if I want to!

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Warning: Femlock… again! Teenlock!

XxX

That's all she was, another runaway. Sherlock Holmes in her family's eyes was the 'black sheep' of the family, the one who wasn't wanted. Sherlock ran away when she was fourteen, three years ago. Sherlock loved her life on the road, it was fun. The odd jobs and money she got from playing her guitar was helping much more. When she had first started she had nothing and had nowhere to go, but now… now she knew where the open road was taking her.

On this October day she was catching the train into London again. Sherlock knew there was good money to be made in London and she might have been able to find somewhere to stay for the night, cheap of course. Sherlock knew the dangers of London. Always a chance of seeing family, always a chance of her brother finding her... again.

Sherlock walked off the train and decided that she might be able to make some money playing her guitar here since it was a busy day. Sherlock set her guitar case down and started another day in her runaway life.

By noon she had made enough money for a pasty and a cup of coffee at least. Sherlock walked around the station wondering where to play next when a young boy bumped into her, making her spill her coffee.

"Oi, watch it mate." Sherlock exclaimed. She looked up at the boy; he was about her age with blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Oh I'm sorry, here go get another." The boy said chucking a fifty pound note at her. Sherlock caught it and stared at him in awe.

"What it's just fifty quid?" The boy said, looking at her confused.

"You really can't tell can you?" Sherlock said, now clutching the 50 pound note tightly.

"Tell what?" The boy asked. Sherlock rolled her eyes and pocketed the note.

"Your family is waiting." Sherlock said, pointing to the rich looking family who had stopped. The mother of this family seemed to look at him furiously. 'No, it can't be.' Sherlock thought. 'It is! Hahaha they replaced me, how did I know?' The woman glared at her when Sherlock smiled. She turned to her husband.

"Shit." Sherlock said before bolting, leaving the boy behind looking confused.

XxX

Mid-afternoon came and Sherlock found herself sitting on the corner of some street, playing her guitar again.

"I've walked the distance, I paid my dues and tried to have a go at what I thought I knew was real, held

No appeal

I've been to places; I've seen the tidings,

I bought a book of rules for every coin that I could steal

And so I came to gaze upon the stars, when they were yet unborn

And consequently, tear at my old scars, and the mask I had outworn

So when I'm crying alone

Yeah, when I'm cold as a dying stone

Grow me a garden of roses

Paint me the colors of sky and rain

Teach me to speak with their voices

Show me the way and I'll try again

I've heard the rumors, started fires, I sowed a sordid lot of plays for keeps for what I need, behold

The demons that I freed

I've tried my best at wearing the hard hat, but healing doesn't seem to happen when you hide away the seed

And so I came across the medicine man, and he showed me what I'd forlorn

For if I'm stayed it happens by my own hand, and my own voice full of scorn

So when I'm crying alone

Yeah, when I'm cold as a dying stone

Grow me a garden of roses

Paint me the colors of sky and rain

Teach me to speak with their voices

Show me the way and I'll try again

Without you I'm nothing at all

And life has the face of a morbid game

With you nothing seems impossible

It all seems to fit the frame

So when I'm crying alone

Yeah, when I'm cold as a dying stone

Grow me a garden of roses

Paint me the colors of sky and rain

Teach me to speak with their voices

Show me the way and I'll try again…" Sherlock sang. There was a small audience gathered round her by this time, they all clapped and chucked a few coins into her guitar case before slowly walking away. Apart from one person, Sherlock looked up to see the boy who gave her the money.

"I figured it out, you're a runaway kid." He said proudly.

"Well you're a bit slow." Sherlock said, giggling a bit.

"Not really I've been trying to find you all day." He said, sitting down by her.

"Why?" Sherlock asked. "Who would come looking for an un-wanted runaway?"

"I would." He said, Sherlock was starting to like this guy. "The names John, John Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes."


End file.
